The Wistful Cipher
The train from Harrowgate to the coast smelled of wet wool and stale coffee. Elias Thorne pressed his shoulder against the vibrating window, watching the industrial smog of the valley dissolve into the grey, flat light of the seaside. He was a man who had spent twenty years holding up the sky with the strength of his arms, and now he was merely a passenger, bound for a place where the sea did...
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